Dudley's Secret
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: Dudley has a secret, and it's time he told his father about it. Will Vernon be understanding, or will Dudley be treat like his cousin was for his differences?


**Written For:**

\- The Golden Snitch Secret Santa: Written for Mars (Marsetta)

 **Word Count:** 2,106

* * *

Dudley Dursley paced around his bedroom nervously, chewing on the knuckle of his index finger. In less than five minutes, it would be six. In less than five minutes, his father would arrive home promptly on the hour, the way he always did.

In less than five minutes, Dudley had to face reality. He had something he needed to confess to his father, and it couldn't be pushed away any longer. He was eighteen years old now, and he would be leaving home in the next few weeks, now that he was set up with good construction work.

His mother, who knew of her son's secret, had insisted that Dudley tell his father before he moved out of their Privet Drive home. And so here he was, walking back-and-forth across the trodden down fibres of his faded navy blue carpet. Around him were the remnants of a childhood that seemed an eternity ago; a computer monitor that had been broken for years, but Vernon had insisted he would be able to fix it 'at some point'; a cardboard box with a picture of a painted wooden plane emblazoned upon it (Dudley had no idea what happened to the actual plane); a sky-blue bedspread decorated with trails of thick, white clouds.

Dudley's secret sat upon the single bed, leaning against the wall with his long, gangly legs crossed in front of him. He was fidgeting with a loose thread on the sheet, looking up at Dudley; his crystal-blue eyes visible through strands of his orange fringe.

It was a relationship that was never meant to happen.

oOo

 _Dudley sat awkwardly on a far away table. He had just watched his cousin marry his witch bride, and there were no other non-magical folk at this strange wedding. He had sat in silence as the tables sprang into the air, swirling around like giant, frilly white ghosts, and had pointedly looked away when a tray of champagne flutes had floated towards him, mutely offering him a beverage._

 _He knew that Harry Potter was a wizard, and he knew all about his strange and magical friends—but he hadn't vouched for the wedding being a receptacle for spells and potions and magic fireworks._

 _His mother had father had tried to persuade Dudley not to go, in fact Vernon had practically fallen to his knees and begged him. But Dudley had reformed from the bully that he used to be ever since Harry had saved him from that invisible attack, not that many years before. He knew he had to be the bigger man, so he had politely accepted the invitation._

 _Now he was beginning to regret his decision, but he was glad he had shown his face. At least now he could sneak off undetected, Harry was busy mingling with guests, and no one else at the reception knew who he was. It would be easy for him to slip out without anyone saying anyth—_

"— _Dudley, isn't it?" a voice suddenly broke his train of thought. He looked up and offered a strained smile to the lanky, red-headed fellow who was standing by his empty table, with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing shiny black trousers, a ruff-necked cream dress shirt, and a velvet waistcoat with a damask pattern of gold thread on the back. Dudley's eyes ached for a few moments as he adjusted to the unusual fashion that the man was wearing. He remembered that, amongst all of these people,_ he _was the one who looked unusual._

" _Yes," he replied apprehensively, gesturing a large hand towards an empty seat opposite him. "Dudley Dursley. I'm Harry's cousin."_

" _Yeah, I know all about you. I think we might have met briefly." The redhead sat down in the seat opposite, his eyes boring into Dudley._

" _Possibly." Dudley really wanted to adjust his collar. He could feel sweat running down his thick neck into the back of his shirt._

" _I'm Ron," the man said, holding out a hand. He smiled brightly, and Dudley suddenly felt much more at ease. "Don't worry—Harry has only spoke well of you—in the last couple of years, anyway."_

 _Dudley returned the smile, with much less apprehension this time._

oOo

The squeak of Vernon Dursley's brakes broke Dudley away from his memory, and he glanced out of the window. Vernon, now white-haired and several feet shorter than he used to be, was climbing out of his car, grumbling to himself about something or other. Dudley inhaled sharply, and Ron jumped up from the bed.

"Hey, Big D," he murmured, tucking his hand into the crook of Dudley's elbow. "It's going to be alright. He's your dad, at the end of the day."

"Don't call me that," Dudley whispered.

"I thought you liked it."

"When we're alone," Dudley sniggered, and enclosed one of Ron's hands between both of his. "You don't know what he's like. All those years Harry lived with us…the way he was treated…"

"I know, Dudley," Ron replied. "Harry told me the stories. He told me about the cupboard under the stairs, and how he was practically a servant to this family. But Harry forgave you, and he forgave your mum and dad. There must be some good in them."

"I hope you're right," Dudley could feel his eyes welling up with tears. If this went wrong, his father would never want to speak to him again. He would be thrown out of the house, abjured, ignored, cast away. He would be a shame to the Dursleys, an embarrassment to his father, considered worse than Harry.

"Just try and remember all the reasons why this is worth the pain of telling him," Ron said quietly, resting his cheek against Dudley's shoulder.

oOo

 _Dudley was sure he could feel Ron's magic crackling in the air as he pushed the redhead down onto the bed, attached to each other by the mouth. They both gasped for air between frantic kisses, neither wanting to break apart long enough to breathe._

 _Dudley had never felt more alive in his life. As he ran his hands down the pale, slender body beneath him, and threaded his fingers into the coarse orange hair at the back of his head, he tried to remember ever having this much attraction for a person in his life._

" _I've never done this before," he muttered gruffly, feeling his cheeks burning. "With a man, I mean."_

" _Neither have I," Ron's voice was barely a breath. "But I know you won't hurt me."_

oOo

"Dudley!" came the shrill, tinny voice of his mother. Dudley bit down into the flesh of his bottom lip, and clenched his fists.

"Okay," he puffed himself out and straightened his back. "This is it. Just wait in the hallway until…until I give you the cue."

"The cue?" Ron raised a thick, auburn eyebrow.

"You'll know what it is," Dudley said hastily. "I can't leave him waiting. Let's get this over with." He hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs, with Ron close to his heels.

Once they were in the hallway, put a finger to his lips to remind Ron to stay quiet, and entered the living room. Vernon Dursley was sitting in his favourite easy chair by the fire, his feet propped up on the Ottoman, and today's newspaper already open in front of him. Just the top of his reddish forehead was visible over the pages.

"Vernon, dear, Duddy-kins has something he would like to talk to you about," Petunia broke the silence cheerfully, as she wandered behind the kitchen counter and switched on the kettle.

"Mother, please," Dudley whispered, feeling his face glow at the reference to his old nickname. He could practically feel the vibration of Ron's laughter just beyond the door.

"What is it, son?" came Vernon's gruff reply. The newspaper rustled as he turned the page, still not looking at Dudley.

Dudley sat down on the edge of the sofa and stared at the grainy picture of the Prime Minister on the front of the newspaper. The headline screamed _'more trouble at Downing Street'_ , and Vernon mumbled to himself as he shook the pages.

"Dad," Dudley started, gripping the arm of the sofa he was sitting on. "There's something I have to tell you. This is going to be difficult for me to say, so I have to ask you to listen to me carefully."

"Make us a cup of tea, Petunia. Go on, Dudley."

"Do you remember what you said about that bloke at your work whose son…that son who didn't end up marrying his fiancée because he was…with a man? That's kind of what I needed to talk to you about. See, since I went to the wedding, something has happened…"

"Tony Blair is in a spot of bother again. I've always said the Tories should be in leadership. The country can't be run by _Labour._ "

"Dad, for heaven's sake!" Dudley yelled suddenly. "I'm gay, Dad!"

The newspaper ceased rustling, and Vernon slowly placed it down onto his lap. The ruddy complexion of his face was spreading to his neck, as he stared over at Dudley with his piggy little eyes. "Say it again, son?" he prodded his ear with his index finger briefly. "Think I might be a little clogged up in this ear—didn't quite hear you—"

"I'm gay." Dudley couldn't look at his father any longer, and his eyes fell to the floor. He felt some comfort as his mother's bony hands fell on his shoulders supportively. "You heard me right the first time."

"Oh…well…are you sure, son?"

Dudley nodded assuredly.

"But that's not all, is it Dudley?" Petunia prompted, squeezing Dudley's shoulders encouragingly.

"There's more?" Vernon sounded worried.

Dudley took a breath. "I'm…with someone. A man."

There was a long silence, and when Dudley dared to steal a glance at his father, he took note of the strangled expression on his face. Suddenly, he felt quite sorry for his dad. After all, Vernon had been raised on extremely mundane and traditional values, and here Dudley was, pretty much warping all of the hopes Vernon had for Dudley. He looked as though he was battling with something personal—a fight between wanting to yell at Dudley for daring to be so different, and the fatherly instinct that told him to accept Dudley for who he was.

With what seemed to be an extreme struggle, Vernon settled for the latter option. "Right," Vernon croaked, rubbing his throat. "Well—you understand that this is a little difficult for me, but I'm an understanding man."

Dudley tried to maintain his surprise. Vernon was the least understanding man that ever existed, but he felt a great fondness for his father right then, as he was desperately _trying_ to understand him.

"Son, I'll ask you to go upstairs for a little while. I'd like to talk to your mother." Vernon folded the newspaper he had been reading sharply, and placed it on the coffee table beside him. Dudley nodded, knowing that he had given his father enough surprises for today. Introducing him to Ron would have to wait.

He climbed up from his seat on the couch and walked out of the living room, closing the door behind him. Ron was standing awkwardly in the hallway; a lanky, eerie shadow hovering by the sideboard. He was holding a silver plated gravy boat, something that he had apparently found on top of the sideboard. "Sorry—did I miss the cue?" he whispered. Dudley shook his head and bustled Ron back up the stairs, where they could talk without Vernon overhearing them.

"You didn't tell him about me?" Ron asked quizzically, when Dudley had repeated the whole conversation to Ron.

"It wasn't the right time," Dudley said dismissively. "It was already enough of a shock just telling him that I'm _gay._ I don't think he could stand it, but he put on a good face."

Ron leaned towards Dudley, resting his cool palm on Dudley's cheek. "I _told_ you it would be alright."

"I'm not completely out of the hot water yet," Dudley replied. "After all—I haven't told him that my boyfriend is a _wizard._ "

"I like the sound of that."

"What, that you're a wizard?"

"No, _Duddy-kins_ ," Ron sniggered. "You calling me your boyfriend."

Dudley took the hand that Ron had placed on his cheek, and pulled him closer. "Well, it's true isn't it?"

Ron smiled. "I suppose it is."


End file.
